Just Smile
by thevixendixon
Summary: Rogue touches Bobby and experiences some of the inner workings of his mind. Not exactly what you'd expect coming from Bobby.


A/N: This came about because I felt they seriously downplayed Rogue's powers in the show. Also Bobby always seemed so flat and I wanted to give his character some depth. So please read it and review. Thanks.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the story.

* * *

"Hey, Bobby. We can't really explain this right now, but we're gonna need to borrow something of yours."

Bobby was sitting at his computer, not paying attention to the girls that came through his open door. The three of them surrounded him. Their shadows overtook him. He finally looked up as he said, "Yeah, sure, what do you need?" He couldn't understand the menacing look in their eyes and the mischievous evil of their laughs.

"Your powers." They laughed louder now as they began to close in on him, pushing him into a corner. He noticed Rogue's ungloved hand coming slowly towards him and he frighteningly tried to push himself further into his chair.

It didn't work.

OOOOO OOOOO BREAK OOOOO OOOOO

_Dear God, she's gonna touch me._

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

_Come on, Drake. You can do it. Just one more time. That's it. Just smile. That's all you gotta do. Smile._ With that the corners of Robert Louis Drake's mouth slowly curved upwards. His cheeks bunched a little under his eyes. He could see the small dimple on the left side of his face. Apparently, it only takes fifteen muscles to smile. Was Bobby Drake so weak, that only fifteen muscles were still so hard for him? When he was younger his mom used to tell him that when he made faces it would freeze that way. _If you keep making that face, it'll freeze like that. Do you want your face to freeze that way?_ He would always say no. Of course this was before he really understood the depth of the word 'freeze.' But his mom had lied to him. Every morning he stared into the mirror and practiced his smile. Every single morning. But by night, somewhere in the dark, maybe in his dreams, he lost that smile he worked so hard for, and would work hard for again the next morning. So then, maybe, it had frozen on his face.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bobby came back from the bathroom. Despite his efforts, the towel he held clenched around his waist kept slipping. Surprisingly enough, the one around his head gave him no trouble at all. He scuffed his way to his desk where his phone lay charging. He opened it only to see the time. Foolish of him to think somebody would've called.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bobby stood at the counter waiting for the cashier to give him his change. The soda he bought was hardly cold, but that didn't really matter. He looked at the glass case behind the cashier. It was completely filled with packages of cigarettes. Block after block of different colors that still managed to look so completely drab. Bobby knew of the ones that camels apparently smoked and the one for Hollywood cowboys. He wondered who the other ones were for. There was a big yellow sign taped to the glass explaining the store's strict 'no cigarettes sold to minors' policy. _No tobacco will be sold to anyone under the age of 18. We check IDs._ They were just asking kids like Bobby to smoke.

Bobby didn't exactly grow up with smoking, but his uncle was a smoker. He would remember those holiday get-togethers, watching his uncle shake in the snow as gray smoke came out his mouth and nose. He thought about how horrible it must be for him to stand in the cold alone with smoke coming out his nose. Bobby once laughed soda out of his nose and it was so painful he ran to his mom crying. He imagined that gray stuff wasn't any better. His uncle would wait awhile before coming back inside the house and washing up, but sometimes the smell lingered on his clothes and Bobby would hold his breathe before hugging him. His uncle didn't die or anything. In fact, he quit before Bobby ever reached the age of seven.

He couldn't understand why people would do that to themselves. Just the idea of smoking made him want to vomit. He guessed sometimes people just had to do the things that were bad for them. He could relate.

So here he was, considering whether he should use the fake id he bought off the yearbook kids to buy himself a pack. Most of the kids at the Institute had gotten drunk before, some even high, but cigarettes were different. People should care with cigarettes, right? He could picture himself blowing the smoke out his window. He considered how long he could keep it a secret from the others. Probably forever. He wondered if anybody **would** notice. Maybe, if he placed them right on his desk or had them conveniently poke out from his pocket a little bit.

He fingered the change in his pocket. He would've, right then and there, if he didn't look again at the price. He quietly let the change slip from his fingers and drop back into his pocket. Maybe next time.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

"Robert Drake?"

A small hand in the back of the room shot up. "Present." The class snickered at the thought of presents. Every other kid in the class would answer with a 'here,' but not Bobby Drake. What did presents have to do with attendance?

"People call me Bobby."

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bobby's best friend never died in front of his eyes. He wasn't doomed to live a life without touch. Nobody was afraid of his fuzzy blue exterior. He had two wonderful parents that loved him. Has. He grew up in a peach two-story house with a mountain bike and an allowance. His powers were never out of control or of a hindrance to him. He wished he didn't feel so guilty about that. Being at the mansion with all those people that had experienced things he couldn't even dream of. They didn't respect him like they respected each other, like he respected them. He didn't respect himself. He was born of privilege. He didn't have what it takes. No strength. He was just as shallow as everybody saw him. There were no extra layers, no strength, no sensitivity, nothing. How could he be thankful for that?

Nothing bad ever happened to him, which might be considered something bad in itself. He was pretty much just a normal average kid in a place where nobody is normal or average. They all wished they had lives like him, but secretly, he knew they were happy with the lives they had. It made them different and gave them character, and at least it was something, whereas Bobby was kind of left with nothing.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bobby sank a little lower in his chair. His eyes were wide as he looked over the paper in his hands. A big red C- was angrily branded into corner. Ok, so he probably didn't spend enough time on his schoolwork and that 'morning of' thing he'd been doing didn't really work, but he actually tried on this paper. Yeah, yeah, don't try, do. Easier said than done. He couldn't believe this. Why did he spend so much time on it at all? He was so sure of himself. It was a good paper. What did he do wrong? He worked so hard and it was all such a waste. He felt horrible. He wondered if his life would always be a disappointment. He wondered if he would always be a disappointment. He wanted to be somebody and really do something. What if he ended up staring at a computer screen in some cubicle? What if he didn't even get the cubicle? What if he was stuck in the back of some fast food place, poking at raw 'meat,' behind a counter made of, of all things, fire?

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bobby couldn't remember a time when he didn't go by Bobby. His old baby pictures had things like 'Bobby (9 months) taking a bath,' and 'Bobby (2) rides the carousel,' in a cursive barely anyone could read on the back. His life as Bobby was catalogued from the start through those pictures, but where was Robert?

He used to like the nickname when he was younger. When it made him special. Now it seemed like nobody went by the name that was written on their birth certificates. What would make him special now would be to go by Robert. Not Bobby, or Iceman, or Drake. He wasn't even sure if he was a Bobby anymore. He looked like a Bobby on the outside, but he didn't always feel like one.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

The jokes at least came easy for him, no matter how hard he had to try to keep up his cheery exterior. It seemed like he was always laughing, and in a way he guessed he was. The problem was he didn't like to always be laughing. He once laughed at a neighbor's funeral. He hated how he couldn't take things seriously, and how, because of that, nobody else could take him seriously. The joking used to make people notice him, but not anymore. He couldn't remember what led him to become who he was. He assumed at least part of it was written into his soul, into his destiny. But one day he hoped to do something about that. Maybe he could work with numbers. It was too much work to be fun.

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

The ground shook with every step the robot took. It stood on its four legs, which even while bent were probably still over fifteen feet tall. It's round massive body made it appear almost spider-like. Bobby could hear the gears inside its body move as a large canon of a gun came out of its flawless shiny top. It shot round after round at them. Bobby dodged what he could. It was too quick for him to counter. Bam! Amara was hit. She lay on the floor where the force of the shot had knocked her. She was covered in red paint. Fearing the same fate as his partner, Bobby quickly dodged a third round of paintballs by hiding behind the leg of another robot. He succeeded. Not a drop of red stained his uniform. The problem however was that the red had hit the leg he was hiding behind, which was already having a difficult time balancing on a patch of ice (left behind by the Iceman) on the ground. The robot's leg flew from under it and it dangerously fought to keep its balance on its three other legs. It would've won, too, had Bobby not shot more ice at it to try and knock it down. It began to drop… directly towards the fallen Amara. They all watched wide-eyed before a blast of red light shot the robot into the far wall where it collapsed. Everyone was still in shock as the danger room powered down.

"Drake! What was that!?" Scott came running up to him. He grabbed Bobby by the arm hard and twirled him around to face his glowing red visor. "How could you be so stupid? You're gonna get somebody killed!"

By now Jean had come over as well. She put her hands Scott's shoulders and directed him away from the other boy. "It's okay, Scott. This is why we train." She then turned to Bobby. "Don't worry. You'll get it next time, Bobby." Her voice was confident and reassuring as was Amara's hand on his shoulder.

_God, Scott is such a dick. Look at him walking around like he owns the place. Last time I checked, it was the Prof. who owned the place. It's not like he's never made any mistakes. I don't owe him anything. He's never done me any favors. He's almost as bad as that jerk of a brother he's got. Stupid Summers family._

ooooo ooooo break ooooo ooooo

Bobby sat on the top of the steps leading to the auditorium. Roberto was supposed to meet him there to talk about their physics project. He rustled with his sandwich and kept his gaze down. He wasn't used to being alone. It made him feel self-conscious. He heard a loud laughter and raised his head to investigate. A group of kids walked by completely unaware of their surroundings. Drama freaks. Figured. Bobby quickly scanned his own surroundings before bringing his head back down to meet his sandwich. His gaze stopped at a group of people congregating by the light post. He watched them without even realizing it. One of the group brought her head up. She was nothing special. Just a girl. Friendly maybe. Cute, but for Bobby it didn't take a lot to be considered cute. She saw him notice them. Well, he was staring by this point. She smiled. Bobby very calmly, very sweetly smiled back. She then joined her crowd in conversation.

Bobby quickly looked behind him expecting to see Roberto or Ray or some other tall, dark, and handsome or mysterious rebel type. He didn't understand. He wasn't picky when it came to girls, so why were they? There was no one behind him. A pity smile? Honestly, did he care? If that was the case he'd be spending a lot more lunches by himself. But that wasn't the case, was it? She was smiling at him.

He smiled wide enough to show his teeth. This time it wasn't so hard.

OOOOO OOOOO BREAK OOOOO OOOOO

Rogue shook herself back from her thoughts, or rather, Bobby's. When she came fully around, Kitty was already on her way to the door. "Thanks, Bobby!" She yelled cheerfully.

Bobby rest his head on his hands and looked like he was about to puke. He raised a hand slightly to acknowledge her. "No problem. Come back anytime, girls. Glad to be of service." It was hardly more than a sarcastic mumble. His pale lips couldn't muster much more, but Kitty was already gone through the door.

Jean put her hand on Rogue's upper arm. "Come on, Rogue, we gotta get out of there before the boys come back."

"Right, just give me a minute." Jean went on her way to find the girl that had ditched them. Rogue backed herself into the doorway still a little shaken from the encounter. She stopped at the door and watched the boy whose head had now fallen to his desk.

"Hey Bobby?"

Bobby responded with a muffled, "Yeah?"

"Don't start smoking. It's not good for you."

She then left to follow the others to the boys' rooms where they were undoubtedly awaiting her newly acquired talent.

* * *

Did you like it? I know this is slightly depressing for Bobby, but I just thought like many people, he probably dwells on the bad stuff more than the rest. I think it's important to note that Bobby becomes an accountant in the comics. Please review, and read some of my other stuff.


End file.
